I delivered a baby goat last night…

Although, for those in the know, you know this actually happened last week.  That is how it is these days, not enough 'still' time to get a blog post done in just one sitting.  So, let's get on with it…

Hazel and Pippi at about 15 minutes old 

It all started about 10 days ago,  I had 2 does that were bred and expecting kids at any time.  One of these was my angora doe, Bluebell, she's originally from Texas, by way of Namaste Farms.  Does behavior changes when they are very close to birth, Bluebell gets super affectionate.  I can normally pet her and fuss with her just fine, but she was seeking me out, nuzzling me and allowing me to mess with any part of her I wanted.  I got to check her udders, her armpits, inside her ears.  I pulled goobs from her eyes and inspected her feet.  I looked through most parts of her fleece, looking at her skin and fleece condition, admiring small unique little locks and looking for lice.  After about 10 minutes of this, I realized I had laid my cheek on her hip while I was parting her fleece and was softly speaking to her.  I was breathing deep, relaxing breaths and taking in her somewhat earthy, goat smell.  And I loved it.  It relaxed me and made me happy almost to tears that I could do this, all the while with bits of dirt, hay and poop on the surface of her fleece.  I was taking in her fragrance like it was spring trees blossoming rather than an odor some would run from.  It is moments like this, out of the ordinary moments, that you really truly live.  Moments you could never have dreamed would be part of your life here on Earth.  Moments that are surreal as they are happening.  These are the moments I hope each of us can experience in life, because I do honestly think this is part of the meaning of life.  I am finding the longer I live here on Chupacabra Farms, the more of these moments I am blessed with.  Bluebell gave birth that next day.

Pippi was a little weak, getting some extra love

Last night was another one of those moments.  Despite thinking my pygora doe, Fatty Patty was originally going to kid in like October (I am a newb, remember!) and then being so confident it was happening any moment I started a birth pool in January, I was fairly certain she was going to kid last Tuesday.  All of the right things were happening, she was off her feed, she had dropped, she was pacing and cooing to not-yet-born babies.  I even caught her chasing and grooming her yearling, Jheri, much to his annoyance.  I cancelled our plans for the day so we would have a chance to witness the birth.

This shows some idiot thinking she could knit and drink coffee
 in the corral while waiting for the birth.  

So, as the saying goes, a watched doe never kids, and I spent most of the day in and around the corral doing odd jobs, getting impatient and second guessing my observations.  About the time I gave up and went inside I figured it would happen, and it did.  Around 5pm I went to check while on the phone with my mother in law, and sure enough, I had to cut the conversation short with some unintelligible gobble about birthing goats.  I had looked over and could see the tip of a nose starting to emerge.

Sad little Cole's head

Again, for any of you in the know, you may have already picked up that I said I saw the nose presenting.  Well, come to find out the hard way, that is not a normal presentation for a kid.  They should present front feet first.  So after watching with bated breath and heart a flutter for about 30 minutes at the heads progression, it became apparent that I needed more information.  Fatty seemed to give up, and labor stalled with nothing but a black baby goat head sticking out from her hind end.  After consulting a book, then a goat friend, I called the vet.  And he assured me that a)  it was imperative that I deliver this baby immediately and b) that I could do it.


So, I washed up, got the necessities and made sure to move very fast so that I could outrun any fear and self doubt that might creep in.  Fatty, unfortunately, is the one goat that is not big on human contact.  I had to chase her, grab her, was drug around by her, all the while with this sad little goat head sticking from her hind end.  I was terrified that any wrong turn and that sweet little neck would snap.  But I did it (and my back and legs reminded me of the chore for a couple days),  I straddled her neck and shoulders and went in to find and pull the front legs forward.  It was crazy, it was hard, I struggled, Fatty objected loudly, very loudly but after a few minutes I was able to pull the kid out.  And he was alive!  In all her excitement and trauma from the delivery, Fatty cleaned him up with much exuberance.  There was a moment, when I was on the ground inches from her and the baby, in very late dusk, when she stopped cleaning Cole, turned to me, and gave my nose, cheeks and eyes the same exuberant cleaning.  I'm not sure the sound I uttered, I was flat exhausted from the strain of holding her still while trying to pull Cole out in the correct direction without tearing her uterus or vulva or putting too much pressure on her midsection that might contain another baby.  I couldn't breathe, I had no words, and a momma goat was cleaning my face.  I'm pretty darn sure that for a brief second, we looked deep in each others eyes and she said 'Thank You'.

It was a look kinda like this one, but in the near dark and an inch from my face.

Little massage to help, goatie midwife I am

I called Dr. Farmhand right after that, to let him know the baby was OK.  I am not exactly sure how he understood me, or exactly what I said, but I do know that he said he was proud of me and that I had done good.  That was exactly what I had needed to hear because while I had managed to stay a few steps ahead of that fear and self doubt, doing so caused a great deal of physical and mental exhaustion.  And, there was another baby coming.  Cole's sister was born with ease, a much smaller white doling.  Fatty Patty cleaned up the second one with a little help from me, and I moved them both into the barn where there was light and a heat lamp.

Dr. Farmhand got home not much after that and brought the kids down to see the babies.  I had shooed them up to the house when I realized we were going to have a traumatic birth, more due to the fact that I needed to be focused and uninterrupted than what the outcome might be.  We sat as a family with Fatty and her babies and Bluebell and her babies until the placenta delivered and we knew everyone was going to be OK.  As practice, I check on the newborns every 2 hours for the first 48 hours of life to make sure they are getting enough to eat, enough attention from mom and are warm during the night.

Chupacabra Farms now has 4 baby goats, Fatty Patty has a black boy Gavin named Cole and white girl  Dr. Farmhand named Tyson.  Bluebell delivered twin doelings exactly a week earlier, a white one I named Pippi (as in squeak or longstocking) and a cute caramel colored one Willow named Hazel.   It has been a super crazy few weeks around here, but happy to say that now, momma goats and baby goats are all well, I am getting my sleep and there are no plans for more babies any time soon.  Well, scratch that, Chick Days at the feed store is in 4 weeks, but chickens don't count.

Pippi mid yawn, may her ears never lay flat!